Incoherent pseudo-mythological balderdash; the kind of movie in which the
hero, by concentrating really hard, is able to learn an unfamiliar
language over the course of a single evening.

The Iron Giant (Brad Bird):
B+

Better than it looks, but not nearly as remarkable as its champions claim
-- it's basically just a skillful, thoroughly enjoyable variation on
E.T., with a little Day the Earth Stood Still thrown in for
good measure.

Bowfinger (Frank Oz):
C+

Like In & Out, this is almost mystifyingly unfunny, given
the terrific premise and the talent involved; only Eddie Murphy's
goofball turn as willing flunky Jiff feels remotely inspired, and there's
not nearly enough of him.

Notting Hill (Roger Michell):
C+

Call me a deviant, if you must, but I do tend to prefer at least a
little sexual chemistry between the two stars of a romantic
comedy; Four Weddings compensated for Andie MacDowell with great
jokes and a winning supporting cast, but this retread, despite
considerable (and visible) effort, manages neither.

Run Lola Run (Tom Tykwer): B

On the one hand, a dazzling display of technique and the most enjoyably
kinetic reminder of why they call them "movies" in some time; on the
other, it'd be nice if, like its forerunner Blind Chance, it were
actually about something.

The Matrix (The Wachowski
Brothers): B

Fabulous dystopian imagery, and it's nice to see a sci-fi action flick
with some smarts; as in Bound, however, les frères
Wachowski are more skilled with plotting and visual pyrotechnics than
with character (casting poor, useless Keanu didn't help).

The Red Violin (François
Girard): C

Films about an inanimate object that travels from owner to owner tend to
be clever at best; this one doesn't even scale that modest pinnacle,
apart from the occasional flash of fire from the ever-reliable Samuel L.
Jackson (in a bit part, mind).

EDtv (Ron Howard): C+

Inoffensive enough that I originally allotted it a B-; I downgraded it
upon arriving home, when I realized that I couldn't recall a single
truly memorable scene or idea.

A Walk on the Moon (Tony
Goldwyn): B-

Skillful and well-acted but kinda generic -- one of the "I was never the
same after that summer" flicks that Deedee bitches about in The
Opposite of Sex.

True Crime (Clint Eastwood):
D+

As stupid as Absolute Power (my favorite moment was when Clint
found a key piece of evidence lying conveniently on the floor, open to
the relevant page, complete with the previous investigator's handwritten
annotation: "Something fishy here..."), without even the saving grace of
that film's masterful opening break-in sequence; I now officially give up
hoping for another Unforgiven.

The Wounds (Srdjan Dragojevic):
C-

Um, is it a bad sign if you're so bored that you're actively rooting for
your two misguided protagonists to kill each other, so that you can go
home?

Go (Doug Liman): B+

It goes, all right, fast and frenetic and utterly riveting; only trouble
is, nobody had the vaguest idea of how to stop it -- it just kinda
peters out (this movie with a strong ending might've been a flat A).

The Corruptor (James Foley):
C+

Generic action sequences; a couple of decent plot twists; Chow Yun-fat's
English and Mark Wahlberg's screen presence both still need some work.

Pushing Tin (Mike Newell): C

The stressful lives of air traffic controllers is a fine idea for a movie;
unfortunately, this one's more interested in a tiresome "quien es mas
macho?" pissing contest between rivals John Cusack and Billy Bob Thornton
than in exploring the details of their livelihood.

Analyze This (Harold Ramis):
C+

Oh, for a Hollywood comedy that doesn't play like an extended sitcom
episode (speaking of which, my grade for Rushmore improved to a
strong B+ on second viewing; for god's sake, see that instead).

Office Space (Mike Judge): B-

Inspired bits of business (e.g., Stephen Root muttering feverishly about
the "ratio of people to cake") almost compensate for the half-baked plot
and go-nowhere romance; looks more like a long TV pilot than a movie.

Sweeney isn't in the same league as Spalding Gray or Eric Bogosian, but
she holds the stage (and, kinda as an afterthought, the lens), and her
impression of her overbearing mother just gets funnier and funnier with
each successive reel.

Dry Cleaning (Anne Fontaine):
B-

It's been nearly a year now since I saw this; what I remember most
clearly is that the whole thing felt overly schematic and (like many of
Chabrol's films) somewhat glib in its dissection of bourgeois evasions.

Cookie's Fortune (Robert Altman):
B

Slight but amusing, and something of a companion piece to The
Gingerbread Man: same Southern setting; same contrived, hamhanded
plot; same mix of performances good (Charles S. Dutton; Ned Beatty) and
bad (Glenn Close; a rare clunker from Julianne Moore); same invigorating
attention to irrelevant detail; same offbeat wit.

The School of Flesh (Benoit
Jacquot): C

I had no idea that Olivier "le plank" Martinez had a little brother;
unfortunately, this movie depends on the notion that Isabelle Huppert
would be obsessed with him, and all I can say is "Yeahrightsure."

Children of Heaven (Majid
Majidi): B

Sort of Kiarostami-lite (and a long way from Enfants du Paradis),
but pleasantly energetic -- particularly in its rousing footrace of a
finale -- and only occasionally saccharine.

In Dreams (Neil Jordan):
D

Man, when Jordan whiffs it, he really whiffs it; as strident and
tedious as Interview with the Vampire, with industrial-sized
plot holes and a smarmy "twist" of a coda to boot.

Private Confessions (Liv
Ullmann): C

Even more tiresome than The Best Intentions, to which this serves
as both sequel and expansion; so much angst-fraught nattering that it's
more like watching someone else's therapy than a movie.